False Pretences
by SoManyWords
Summary: Sherlock's dead. John's distraught. And Molly? Well, Molly's stuck pretending to be Sherlock's dead girlfriend. /Sherlolly. A tiny bit of Jolly if you squint.


Chapter One

Molly hadn't counted on this. She hadn't planned it or expected it, when she thought about it. It just ... happened. She hadn't imagined anything could come of the, 'You look sad' remark. Maybe a light snap or a meaningful glare. But nothing big. Nothing life changing.  
So as she sat at her kitchen table, waiting for his knock on the door, she still could not quite believe it. A clock ticked noisily in one corner. Her eyes darted to and from it. She'd never noticed how orange the walks were. Sickly. Maybe she should redecorate?  
Molly sat and played with her hands. Her movements were restless, jumping at every creak. Even a mouse could scare her. Because she couldn't help but think something must have gone wrong. The plan was too perfect. Too good to be true. And for Moriarty not to expect a thing, well... That was unrealistic. Her hopes were unrealistic.  
Tick. Tick. Tick. That damn clock. The orange walls made her want to throw up.  
Outside was dark. Pitch black in fact, and Molly could see her reflection in the window. She looked pale; the type of pale doctors would comment on.  
Sherlock had said he'd knock on her door at exactly twelve, when he was less likely to be spotted by people. But as it swiftly approached half past, Molly couldn't help but think something had gone wrong. He would have been on time, otherwise. A feeling not unlike nausea settled itself in her stomach.  
Then the door knocked three consecutive times.  
Molly almost fell off her chair. A mix of relief and fear crowded her. Tripping over chairs, she practically ran to the door, unlocking it with shaking hands. What if it wasn't Sherlock? She tore the door open.

"Molly. Did I or did I not tell you to check through the peep hole first?"

A sigh of relief. He stood there, his skin almost see through against the blackness of his hair and the dark night. He was there. Sure, he was scolding her, but he was there. Molly stepped back to allow him to enter. He moved past swiftly and she shut the door. With trembling hands, she locked it.

"You could ruin everything before we even get started," He continued, stalking into the kitchen. She followed him. "I do hope you're thinking of cleaning up your act. My people are only the best people."

"I'm your people?" She asked nervously. He gave her one of those 'Are you that much of an idiot?' glares.

Sherlock surveyed the room, his eyes dark and narrowed. Calculating. "Your flat is smaller than mine. Hm."

"Is that a problem?" She asked, that same nervous tone to her voice.

"No. Also, you appear to have a cat. Male. A year old. Wait. A year and a half."

"Sorry."

"You should be. I do not care for cats," He frowned as he removed his coat and threw it skillfully over the back of a kitchen a chair. He was wearing a tight black shirt. Molly couldn't help but gasp. Upon hearing that, he quirked a brow in her direction. "I regret to inform you that John will be ringing in about ten minutes to discuss my death with you. Hope you don't mind."

"J - John?" Why would John ring her?

"Mm. I had one of the Homeless Network inform him that you have only just left work and that you should arrive home any moment," He waved a dismissive hand, "Anyway. Onto more important matters. I don't know where you keep the coffee so you'll have to make it. So sorry."

Molly (for the first time ever) ignored his demand for coffee. "Why is John ringing me? I don't understand."

'You don't understand much. He'll want a familer voice. Someone friendly. Peachy," Sherlock began rooting through cupboards, "By the way, he is under the impression that you are my girlfriend. Why do you keep the cereal next to the cat food? You're the type of moron that would mix the two up."

Her eyes widened in shock. "W - What?" GIRLFRIEND?

"I said why do you keep the cereal next to the cat food? Do keep up, Molly."

"N - no. I meant..." She trailed off.

He soon round, fixing her with a stare. "I am in need of you to pretend to be my girlfriend. Do us all a favour and don't get ideas from it because it is strictly for personal gain. I need access to my flat, the morgue, funeral arrangements and such."

"Couldn't I do that without being your girlfriend?" Not that she was complaining.

"No. You'll see why. Dont question me." He threw himself into the kitchen chair, having given up on making coffee. "Any moment now, John will ring. Don't forget to act distraught."

As if on cue, the phone rang, shrill and loud in the quiet kitchen. Molly couldn't help but jump. Her hands shook.

"Answer it," Sherlock snapped, "And put it on speaker. I need to hear."

Fumbling, she picked up the phone, almost forgetting to press the speaker button. Almost. "H - Hello?"

"Molly?" A broken voice sounded from the other end, "It's... It's John."

"John? Are you okay?" She immediately kicked herself for how tactless the question was. Sherlock did also, as she cowered from the glare he gave her.

"No. You've heard the news, haven't you? Oh, what am I saying? Of course you have. They would have told you first."

"I'm so sorry, John..."

"I know," He paused. A heavy sigh. Molly glanced over at Sherlock to see his reaction, but his face was as smooth and as unrevealing as ever. "Me too."

"Listen, I know these are terrible times but I have something for you."

She glanced up at Sherlock. Again, his face gave nothing away. "You do?"

"Yes. I know it's... Soon, but it's from... him. One of his Homeless Network gave it to me to give to you."

Molly drew in what she hoped was a shaky breath. "W - What is it?"

"A note."

"Oh."

"He wrote it just before he..." John trailed off, unable to finish. Molly heard the painful swallow. "I had no idea about you and him, you know."

She panicked briefly, unsure what to say. "Most people didn't."

"I didn't think he was capable of... those type of feelings."

Ha! "Yeah..."

A silence enveloped them before she heard John suck in a breath from the other end of the phone. "I should..."

"I'll talk to you later, then?"

"Yes. We still need to make arrangements for the..." He sighed, "Anyway. I'll be around tomorrow with the note, if you..."

"I'll be here." Gosh! So would Sherlock. What could she do about that?

"Take care, Molly."

She forced a sigh. "And you, John."

"Bye." The line went dead.

Molly stood there for a moment, her eyes fixed intensely on the phone. She hadn't faked the sadness in her voice; it had been real. All she had to do was hear the pain in John's voice and she was immediately filled with grief. And Sherlock was sitting right across the room from her. She could feel his eyes on her. As well as make her heart do a little flip, it also reminded her of John. She was a terrible, terrible person lying to him like that.

"It's for the best," Sherlock stated, as if he could read her mind.

Eventually, after a long period of silence, her eyes met his. "How is any of this for the best?"

'If I don't die, he does."

"I know."

Sherlock let out a long sigh, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. Then suddenly, as if he'd been electrocuted, he jumped up out of his seat. "I'm going to bed. You don't mind having the sofa, do you, Molly? No? Thought not. Report here tomorrow morning for Girlfriend lessons." With that, he left, leaving Molly staring after him, open mouthed.  
Right. Well, this was going to be eventful.


End file.
